


and many more to come

by meritmut



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:13:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4583784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meritmut/pseuds/meritmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the mysteries that comprise Tauriel's past, the day she was born must surely be the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and many more to come

As captains of the Woodland Realm go, none may be said to have won their rank undeservedly. To guard the shadowed Greenwood is no light work; some would say it’s as much a punishment, attaining captaincy, as a privilege, and there are no faint-hearts among their number. But as for those who have without doubt _earned_ the accolade, who by their diligence or vigilance have won not only the rank but the renown to go with it, there are few who have done so with the swiftness and competence of the flame-haired foundling Tauriel, who in her youth had arrived with neither blade nor bow nor kinfolk to her name on the doorstop of the King, and has been here ever since.

She had served with her troop before she came to lead it, and while she’s been known to seem a little _distant_ while on her own time (and far too fond of wandering off alone, it’s been noted by those who in years past have taken an interest in the young elleth’s wellbeing), in the guardrooms and out on patrol she is as approachable and focussed a leader as could be asked of her.

But more than that – the company of the guard is a family, in of itself: those who serve together learn closeness and camaraderie during centuries of fighting and travelling together. Each and every one is accustomed, then, to coming home to a heartfelt and enthusiastic reception from their brothers and sisters. They're used to hollered welcomes and the odd jibe at their making it back alive, with or without the embarrassment of an injury this time, and Tauriel would not find it odd at all to return home from a long tour of the northern march to a loud chorus of shouted greetings from those in the guardroom.

On this particular evening, therefore, she’s already at her armour stand and halfway undressed by the time she observes something strange about it.

Usually her friends’ smiles are the bright, fleeting things of officers welcoming home their sister-under-eaves before going about their own business and leaving her to hers. Today, though – today, there is something else to it, a lingering warmth that speaks of their knowing something she does not, and their sure anticipation of that changing. Tauriel pauses in her work, fingers curling about the laces of her vambrace as she notes the same look of amusement on all their faces; Angwen, lazing against her spear, a smile softening her sharp features; and tall Braiglos - lazing against Angwen - with a sunny grin for the captain; and even the somewhat taciturn Thorondur, whose appointment to master-at-arms by the previous incumbent of the role had been at Tauriel’s own suggestion, and who never smiles in public when he can help it, seems entirely too pleased with himself for reasons that as yet escape her.

And then Legolas all but _saunters_ in, though she knows his party returned hours before hers, and Tauriel spies the wineskins slung over his right shoulder. Freshly lifted from his father’s cellar, no doubt. Naught else would explain the smug turn to the prince’s mien.

“Is it someone’s birth-day?” she enquires of the room at large, pondering who it can be when she’s known them all for far longer even than she has called them brother or sister. Angwen it was who had been among the first to befriend her, when Radagast and she had parted ways all those years ago…and surely she would’ve remembered if it were _Legolas_ …

But her confusion only seems to entertain her companions more. She takes in how their smiles widen at that, how Thorondur’s black brow lifts in an elegant arch as if he cannot believe her this oblivious, when Legolas is at her side wearing a smirk like he’s part and party to the greatest jest ever played and cannot wait for her to hear the punchline – how Braiglos looks to be on the verge of laughter at her inability to guess the cause of their mirth – and how suspicion begins to intrude upon her bewilderment, as Tauriel starts to suspect this may be nothing more than some sort of elaborate hazing ritual.

She’s only been captain a few months, after all, and this is her longest patrol to date. There has to be _something_ she’s yet to experience. (She can’t imagine much else would keep Braiglos loitering here after such a long shift of her own, when hot bathwater and spiced wine wait elsewhere.)

“After a fashion,” says Legolas, passing one of the skins over to Angwen, who shrugs lightly in something that might be agreement as she accepts it from him and cracks the seal.

It’s she who offers the explanation. “We didn’t know – we _don’t_ know – yours, Tauriel. After all this time none of us had learnt it, or ever thought to ask, can you believe it?”

Oddly enough, Tauriel can. It’s been so many years since it ever occurred to her that the day she was born might yet be a day someone might wish to celebrate, never mind _remember_ , and perhaps it is only Legolas who knows that in truth it’s been so long that even she herself cannot do so.

And Angwen’s declaration includes him, meaning the subject must have arisen with him present. Tauriel glances at him, strangely touched and grateful beyond words that he had kept her confession to himself despite that.

“We even asked the King, but he couldn’t help us.” No surprises there, either. Thranduil has passed so many seasons in the world she doubts he even remembers he has birth-days at all, and it would hardly have occurred to him during the first years of her dwelling here, as he sought tirelessly to restore some semblance of civilisation to a girl half-wild and more than a little unconcerned with that sort of thing. No, it does not surprise her in the least that something so trivial as that might slip the collective memory of her friends, when it has long since slipped her own without her even realising. “Asking you yourself would rather give the game away, of course, but…” Angwen pauses, smiles, “…we remembered the day you came, the day the wizard brought you here, and that – we thought – might serve well enough instead.”

“And, seeing as it happens to have been _this_ day that you first appeared at our door, and again today you’ve come home safe to us again, it all seems rather perfect,” she grins, hoisting her wineskin up in salute to Tauriel, “so go well this day, our sister-captain – this first homecoming day. We don’t know when you were born but we’ll never forget when you arrived. Many blessed returns, and many more to come.”

The others echo the last, beaming one and all, and the _touched_ feeling in Tauriel’s chest blossoms into something a lot harder to conceal. She’s never been particularly adept at holding in her feelings, be they rage or gladness, and so when her eyes prickle and her heart swells fit to burst at a gesture of fealty and friendship so un-looked for, and yet so welcome, she doesn’t bother to feign unaffectedness.

“And many more to come,” she repeats with a smile and a too-bright sparkle in her eye, and if her fellow guards notice it – or the way her hand trembles slightly as she takes the proffered skin from Legolas’ outstretched hand – they have far too much sense than to say so.

**Author's Note:**

> About two hours ago the phrase 'Tauriel birthday fic' fluttered through my head. It was all downhill from there.
> 
> (For Larissa xoxo)


End file.
